Cut
by Atolia
Summary: AU. Aang is an anorexic kid in a mental hospital. When he is joined by Zuko, a teenager who cuts himself. But when Aang finds out that his new roommate won't talk, he needs to find a way to help his new friend.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar the Last Airbender or anything involved in it**

**Chapter 1: Silent Treatment**

"Hey did you hear?" Haru leaned in to their table as if he was telling a ghost story. "There's a new kid here. Just got in today. I saw him on my way here. Came in with an old guy. He's going to be in our group today."

"That's great Haru! It's been a while since we've had a new kid," Aang cheered.

That boy was probably the most hyper boy in the clinic. Oakhaven, this place was called. It was a "clinic" for people with "special issues". In other words, it was the loony bin for psychos. Aang and Haru along with two girls, Katara and Toph and a boy called Jet were part of the red team. Serious cases. To get straight to the point, they were people who were a threat to themselves.

Aang and Katara were anorexic. Haru and Jet suffered from serious paranoia. And Toph would have violent rages. To get a new comer in the red team was both rare and exciting. Most of them had been in for a few years and there were not many people that were at their level of seriousness. Finally there was a person from the outside.

"Yeah, so Toph is no longer the new girl. And she's only been with us for three years."

They all laughed, even Toph. She was getting better, less violent. Aang and Katara were having trouble throwing up or not eating when there were people watching you like a hawk. Still, they had the urges to do it again and again. Haru was probably going to get paroled from this place first, but Jet wasn't far behind.

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Aang sat in his usual place in between Katara and Toph, who were usually having a go at each other despite being roommates. Claire, the leader of group was sitting opposite of him. Jet was sitting next to Katara and Haru next to Toph. They were in this pattern almost subconsciously. But this time there was a chair between Jet and Claire that was empty.

A minute later, Claire walked in with an older boy shuffling in behind her. Despite the choppy gate, he moved with an enviable fluidity. He was probably the oldest of them at seventeen. His black hair hung in his eyes. They gasped when he looked up. There was a large scar starting from his left eye and stretching back to his ear. He gave them an empty look. However, neither of these things could take away from the handsomeness of his face. Startlingly gold eyes took in each of them and then his chair. Without of a word, he sunk into it and proceeded to stare at the floor.

"Alright, guys and girls. Since we have a new comer, why don't we start by introducing ourselves and our issues," Claire suggested. "Haru?"

"I'm Haru Nagasaki. I suffer from bouts of paranoia."

"I'm Toph Bei Fong and I have anger issues."

"I'm Aang Azhar and I'm anorexic."

"I'm Katara Winters and I'm anorexic."

"I'm Jet Tassuno and I have bouts of paranoia."

They all turned to the new comer. He hadn't taken his eyes off the floor. His hands were stuck in his black hoodie. Or maybe his black pants. It was hard to tell where one stopped and the other started.

"I'm Zuko Izuno."

That was all he said.

"And why are you with us, Zuko?" Claire asked.

Silence.

"Zuko?"

Without warning, Zuko sat straight up and pulled back the sleeves of his hoodie, revealing scars of all assortments. The older ones were turning back to the pale color of his skin. The fresher ones were still swollen, red and painful-looking. Even Claire looked startled. Then he rolled his sleeves back down and returned his gaze to the floor.

There was an uncomfortable silence that was broken by Claire clearing her throat loudly. This obviously wasn't what she was expecting.

"Why don't we talk about our families?" She said her voice still hoarse. "Jet, why don't you start?"

"My parents died of stroke and heart attack."

"Zuko," Claire inquired when he didn't speak.

His gaze was fixed on a fly stuck between the glass and the mesh. He didn't respond at all.

"Zuko," she prompted again.

But he didn't say anything. She tried a few more times to no avail. He simply watched the fly bump into the glass, then turned, startled when it bumped into the mesh. It was trapped. Just like he had always been. He had the sudden urge to get up and open the window and let it in. But he knew that in a place like this, it would be interpreted as a will to resist confinement or something.

Finally she gave up and moved on to the others. He paid attention, if only to divert his thoughts from that trapped fly. Sever the disgruntling thoughts about his own life.

Katara lost her mother to murder, but had a loving father and brother. Lucky girl. Aang's family died of cancer. Haru lost his father to war but has a loving mother and grandfather. Toph had loving, yet overbearing parents. Don't know what she's complaining about.

All too soon, Group was over and no one had found anything out about Zuko. Aang was both excited and worried to find out that Zuko was his roommate. Excited to finally have someone to share the cold, empty room with, worried by Zuko's bizarre behavior.


	2. Chapter 2:Dying

**Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar or anything involved in it**

**Chapter 2: Dying**

I've got one of those creative therapy sessions after Group every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. It's going to be the only thing I like about this place. Art has always been a haven for me. An escape. I have control over what I do in my art. I like the feeling.

Otherwise, Oakhaven is a true clinic no matter how they try to hide it. We, the patients, are called "guests". But I don't know guests anywhere that are patted down before entering a place. There is an attendant at the bathroom to make sure the anorexic kids, like you, bald boy, don't throw up their food. They check at night to see if we're still in bed and if you aren't, then they find you and give you a shot of something that makes you fall asleep. The windows are never open; I think they think we'll sneak out or something.

Nothing in this place is sharp because of people like me. They feed us things that don't require a fork or knife. Mostly it's slop. I don't ever want to know what's in that stuff. No wonder the anorexic kids still try to throw up. Pencils aren't allowed either. Apparently they are "sharp enough to inflict injury and therefore are not allowed on the premises." They give us ballpoint pens to write with and markers in Creative Therapy.

This place is sterile. You won't find anything anywhere besides the white walls, white sheets, white chairs. Holy shit, I think I might actually be dying! But it gets me away from what landed me here in the first place. And I don't mean the knives or the cutting. Believe me; I still have the strong craving to do that. And I've found ways.

I look for the first time at what I have drawn. It's the fly. I stare at it for a moment. I nearly tear it up, but remember where I am. In this place that would be called "excessively violent behavior." The sooner they think I'm cured, the sooner I'll get out of here and do whatever the Hell I want.

From three easels down, you look over at me. There's something in your eyes as you look at me. It's…fear? You amuse me. Are you really afraid of me? Is it because of what I do to myself? Is it because I told you I want to die? Because you'd want to die if you were me too.

You'd feel it everyday of your life. Eating away at you. Your guilt, your fear, your sadness. Feelings you'd been bottling up for seven years. Seven years. Seven years, until you don't see the point in living anymore. Seven years where it takes effort to make it through each minute of your life. You'd want to die too.

But they wouldn't let me die. I'd tried and that's what got me here. They wouldn't let me die. They wouldn't let me relieve myself. Why are you torturing me like this? Just let me die. It'll be short and quick and I'll never have to deal with this again. It's a coward's way out, I'll admit. But I feel that it would benefit everybody. But they won't let me do it. They won't let me die.


	3. Chapter 3: Because of You

**Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: the Last Airbender**

**Chapter 3: Because of You**

My first session with the therapist is on my first day. She's a warm old woman named Dr. Wu. But on that first day she told me to call her Aunt Wu. I suppose she's nice and only trying to help, but she's also one of those people that wouldn't let me die. I haven't forgotten that.

"Alright, Zuko. Do you mind if I record our session?" She asks me.

I nodded, not looking at her.

I'm pretty sure that was the last thing I listened to until near the end of the session. I tried to memorize the colors of every car in the parking lot for the next forty minutes. I was getting pretty far too. Red, white, yellow, baby blue, oceanic, gray, teal, green, purple, pink, lime, black, red, orange (yes really)…

"We've noticed that you've avoided interaction with the others in your group," she says finally.

This catches my attention. Not because of my "avoidance of interaction" but the fact that there are people watching me. Telling her what my character is like even though they don't know me. I'm like a lab rat in this place. I'm here to be studied and tested upon so that someone else down the line will benefit. I finally know what it feels like for them. The anger, the outrage and the _helplessness _of it all.

"I was wondering why you don't care for them."

I shrug, giving her very little to go on. It doesn't seem to bother her. Nor does it seem to affect her studies. She jots that down in her little notebook. I have no doubt that she'll bring it up in another session. I can almost imagine it now.

_"Now, Zuko, we're going to find the deeper meaning into why you want to die."_

My life sucks and I see no point in living. There. That's all there is to it. Can I die now?

"Our time is up," she tells me.

I shrug again, nod to her and walk out the door.

"Later Doc."

My escort is waiting outside. Since I'm a serious case, I have to have an escort wherever I go. I lucked out this time. It's a girl. We pass the bathroom and I stop. She seems to realize what I want and waits outside as I go in. The attendant seems happy that I have an escort and excuses herself to go get another magazine.

I stop once I cannot see the door. On the far wall, there is a paper towel dispenser. Perfect. I hold my arm under the jagged tearing plastic that is designed to tear the paper. I press my skin the blades an excited tingle working its way up my spine. Swiftly I draw my arm across.

It has the desired effect. Crimson liquid bubbles to the surface and onto my skin. I watch gleefully for a moment. There is a wave of relief. I walk over and flush a toilet. I grab a paper towel and rap it around the wound while turning on the faucet. I make sure that the towel is completely covered before walking out of the bathroom.

My guide is completely unaware of what just happened and walks me back to my room. I sigh in pleasure. This could become a weekly thing…

When I get back to the room, you are already there. I keep my head down and walk over to the bed. Apparently you don't get the hint. Or maybe I just make you so nervous that you feel the need to connect to me on some level. I don't care what it is, though. When you talk to me, I ignore you.

I'm hoping you'll leave soon, so I can check the towel and see if I've stopped bleeding. In the bathroom in this place the paper towels are stacked on the sink. There is no dispenser with a jagged edge specifically for people like me. The bathroom I was in before was for visitors.

Speaking of visitors, tomorrow is visiting day. It's always on Saturday, so I guess it was unfortunate that I was checked in on a Friday. I wonder if anyone will even come. Probably not Father. Azula might show up just to taunt me. I wonder how she'd react if she knew I was still finding ways to cut. Iroh will definitely show up. It doesn't matter that I was just checked in yesterday to him. He'll want to see me. If he could visit everyday, he would. I wish he wouldn't.

I don't like Uncle Iroh for one simple reason. He doesn't like _me_. I can tell by the things he says to me that he doesn't care for the teenager I am. I don't mean the cutting either. Because other than that, I am just dark and antisocial. It's who I am. It would be who I was even if none of this ever happened to me. I don't think he gets that though. It's like he expects me to be the type of person he is: jolly, friendly and popular. I can see that I'm disappointing him and I hate it. Isn't there just one person on the Earth that's satisfied with who I am?

"So who's going to visit you," you ask me.

I simply shrug and turn away. Most people would have taken that as a brush off and not talk to me ever again. I close my eyes. It doesn't seem to bother you. You keep smiling.

"So…why do you do it?" I open my eyes and look over at you. You look genuinely interested. Unlike the therapist who I know could care less as long as she got her money. "You know, cutting."

"Why do you starve yourself?"

The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them. You cringe and look out the window, suddenly shy. I want to cut right now, because I can see that I've hurt you. This is what always happens. I close my eyes again, but I can still see your crumpled face. I really am going crazy.

"I never really fit in at my old school. I was short and skinny and not many people wanted to talk to me."

I open my eyes, surprised. You're actually telling me?

"On T.V and in my school, the guys who got attention and girls were the ones with a body. Kind of like you. I started to eat less and work out more until all I'd eat was soup. One day in math, I just collapsed. They took me to the nurse and they saw that I wasn't eating much. And they sent me here to recover. I was eleven. I got here three months before Toph."

"That's stupid. You're killing yourself slowly." I think this is the most I've talked to someone.

"So are you," you point out.

I roll over so that I am facing the white walls and not your probing eyes.

"Maybe that's the point," I mutter.

I'm not at all sure you heard me, and frankly I don't care.

"So how did you start cutting? Do you remember?" You ask after a moment.

I remember exactly.

_School had just started a few days ago and though we had moved to a different house after Mom died, we went to the same school. I hated hearing people say, "I'm sorry you lost your Mom." Because she wasn't lost. She was gone. There was no where I could go where I could find her. _

_I suppose it didn't help that my father was throwing away all her stuff. And some of the junk stuff from my childhood. She'd saved boxes of my sketches from kindergarten and my essays from fourth grade. She'd saved my medals and ribbons and my crayons and stuffed bear. I looked over the boxes and her voice echoed in my head._

_"You know, Zuko, one day when we're old, we'll look over this stuff and laugh at all the silliness of youth." _

_But we'd never get old together. It was the only lie she'd ever told. On the top of the only open box marked "__**Arts and Crafts**__" was my mother's favorite knife. She used it to cut string and things like that when she made decorations for the house. I picked it up. _

_I was ten and a curious kid. I opened the blade and pressed it to the box. It cut right through. Then I cut some paper. Then I held it to my finger. Mom had always told me that I shouldn't do this and it made it all the more irresistible. I sliced into my thumb. There was a moment of pain, but it was overshadowed by the joy of it. _

I still don't know why I liked it so much.

_There was a noise in the doorway and I knew my father was coming back to throw away the boxes. I resheathed the blade and slipped it into my pocket. _

"That night," I'd tell you, "I tried again and I liked it even more."

But I don't. I don't tell you and I don't turn to you. I stare at the white walls and picture her face. You stare at me for a couple more minutes, before leaving the room. I sit up after you walk away and gaze at the door you just left through.

How is it that you, a perfect stranger, are able to affect me like this? I haven't thought of that day in years. Actually, I'm not too sure I've ever thought about it. I didn't think about it when my Uncle asked me yesterday in the hospital. And yet, I thought about it today. Because of you.


	4. Chapter 4: Track and Memories

**Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: the Last Airbender**

**Chapter 4: Track and Memories**

Most days after creative therapy, I'm out on the track. There's a "teacher" out there every time to run with me. His name is Mr. Willson and how he could ever pass for a phys-ed teacher is a mystery to me, as he can rarely keep up with me. Maybe it has to do with his enormus bulk, especially around the waistline. But somehow, after two laps, he's sweating and out of breath. The trees pass by in a blur of colors. Gold leaves and green alike blend together as I pass, providing the least amount of attention to them as possible.

Often when I'm out on the track, I'll have a blackout effect. I guess after a certain point I don't feel what's going on around me. I retreat back into the deepest niches of my mind and hide out there until my body calls me back. After a certain point I won't feel the wind of a chilly day or know what direction I'm heading in. My body carries me and my mind is there for the ride. Many times when I have "woken", I've had no idea where I was and how I got there. Thank God for the GPS on my cellphone.

Today, perhaps because of you, I do not retreat to the back of my mind. Today is the day for rememberance it seems. In my old school, track was the only time anyone bothered to pay attention to me. Track season was a time to cheer your school on and, to them, if I was racing we were in the clear. It was just the way things were. In track season, every kid in the school knew my name. I can't say I particualarly cared for it; the spotlight wasn't the place for me. But it was only for one season on the days I would race; otherwise, I was just that strange quiet kid in the back of every class. And that was fine.

My first race in the middle school arroused many bets. No one ever noticed me back in those days. I was a shadow. A pair of eyes and ears and nothing more. But those eyes and ears were especially keen. Every so often I'd pick up a ghost of a conversation concerning the outcome of this years track team. Kids that had watched me run for three years were eager to give their accounts of past races for the older kids to hear. There would be some concideration before my classmates would bet on me and the older students would bet against. It went this way until the actual day of the races.

My father's driver was always the one who'd remember that I needed to leave at certain times. I'd tack a note onto the fridge that usually read "_at the track. Be home for dinner"._ And that's how it always was. I'd leave the note, go race and come home. My father and his new wife never said anything about it, which suited me just as well.

The driver seemed to have the sense to get me a waterbottle out of the fridge before driving away. The tingling of nerves I always got before a race had come to party in my stomach. Briefly, I wondered if anyone had ever fainted on the track. Instantly, the nerves were gone. They always seemed to be banished when I acknowledged them. At least it wasn't on the actual track this time.

I always got to races ten minutes earlier for some streatching time. The kids this year were a lot taller. I'd be competing against eighth-graders too. Kids whose names I didn't know came to wish me good luck; they must have bet a lot of money.

The first race is announced shortly after. I'm usually always in the 1000 meters, which is always the last race. But a few of my teammates are in this race so I turn to watch them run. There are a few kids on the other team that live around my street. They go to private school though, just like my sister. It's obvious that no one cares about theses races though, as most people are talking to their friends and looking around. But when one of our racers came in first everyone clapped polietly, obviously having better things to do. It was that way for the next three races; they acted like people sounded when they took phone messages for their parents. Bored but vaguly polite.

When it came time for my race, the silence was quite noticably there. As I approached the starting line, I couldn't help but notice that the shortest kid there was at least a head taller than me. We stopped there and waited. It seemed everyone there was hanging in suspence. The gun goes off and everybody's running. The 1000 meters are five laps around the track. I'm somewhere in the fourth spot at the moment with everybody else running around me. I'm going with my usual strategy, staying behind until the third lap and then speeding through the fourth and fifth one. It has always worked in the past. Still, I never win by much. There are usually two or three people behind me, but only so by an inch or two. I can usually always hear their ragged breathing until I finally pass the finish line. I hate it.

By the second lap, I can hear the harsh breathing of the people in front of me. I wince. I wonder if that is the way my mother died. Listening to her own uneven breaths. I stop thinking about that. I have a race to run. Now is not the time for old memories. The last thing I need right now is for my tears to blur the track. But it doesn't go away completely. It is still there in the back of my mind. I can feel it.

By the third lap, the two people in front of me have tired out and fell back to the end of the pack. Two more people of the other school have taken the first two places. I can hear their breathing from all around me. My father said that she didn't feel anything when she died. I, myself know that is a lie. I was there, I heard her. I try and shake that thought out of my head. This time, though, it doesn't move. _Liar._ I don't even think he talked to the doctors. I don't even thing he cared enough to. Before I know it, my thoughts have pushed my feet further ahead. When I come out of my thoughts, I have pulled to far away from the other runners. I have commited myself, perhaps too soon, to run the rest of the race at this speed. I cannot let myself slow down now, I cannot let them pass me.

There is still the fourth and fifth lap to go. By the fourth I can feel my muscles groaning in protest. I've never before expected them to do so much. By the time I get to the fifth lap, I feel the ache in my shoulders become a throbing pain. Stabs from a knife can be felt in my legs and arms. It hurts._ You can hurt for one more lap. Just one more lap_. By the time the finishline was in view, there were little black dots in my line of vision. I stop after the finishline and try to catch my breath. I've never felt this sick after running. My stomach is threatening to send my breakfast up the wrong way. I can't bring myself to move more than a few more steps off the track. Someone shoves a water bottle in my hand. I take a few sips, slowly.

_"Don't drink to fast, Zuzu. It'll make you sick."_

Now my stomach is really churning. In the background, someone calls for lunch. All around me, people are moving towards their parents who are holding their lunch. Somehow, I manage to get up and stumble away before someone can ask if I want to have lunch with their family. Next door to the track field is a park. My mother and I always used to eat here after my track meets. This is the first time I've ever come here without her. I sit on our usual metal bench. I don't bother with lunch; I'm not entirely sure I can hold it down. Next to the bench are a bunch of white lilies, just as they always have been. The normalicy of it all astounds me. To nature, it was like my mother hasn't died.

_"Look, Zuzu. Lilies. Aren't they pretty? They've bloomed beautifully this year. In Japan, I used to grow them in our gardens. But that was before you were born. They've never bloomed this maginficantly for me, though."_

She'd looked akin to the lilies that day: pale and beautiful. Now that I look back on it, I'm not entirely sure what we were eating or what we were wearing, or even if I'd won my race. (Though that was more likely than not) But I can still picture her face perfectly. She had braided her long black hair and stuck the red roses from our garden in the top. Her lipstick was very red, trying to make up for the paleness of her skin that day. There was a hollowness in her eyes, that were normally light and open with love. That was only three days before her death. I get up and start to walk away. It's only when I am three blocks away from the park that the irony of it all hits me.

Lilies are the flower of death.

**A/N: Sorry that it took so long for me to update. I've revised this chapter a lot, so I'm hoping that it came out alright. I've also been experiencing life without a computer. My old computer crashed and I've been having to use my father's laptop. I'm not allowed to save anything on there. Plus he was super busy. No time for fanfics. But I'm back and I'm really shocked by how many people are reading this fic. Wow! Thanks for understanding and I'm really sorry!**


	5. Chapter 5: Demon

**Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the last airbender. It belongs to Mike and Bryan. **

**Hey guys, thanks for sticking with this story. I'm happy to say that I will never be gone for that long ever again. For those of you who asked, yes my friend is fine now. She went to the doctors yesterday and they say she is perfectly fine now. The past few months have been a horor story worrying about her and everything. But she's fine now and this story will continue. Sorry it took so long. **

**Chapter 5: **

They say that when God wants to punish a man, He gives him exactly what he wanted. So, if He's trying to punish me, He's doing a damn good job of it. I got what I wanted; Uncle didn't come visit me this week. I wouldn't have to put up with his blubbering about responsibility and what not. Instead, I get an hour with Azula. If I'm lucky (which I never am) she'll get bored after the first ten minutes and leave. But, and this is a guarantee, she'll do or say something to make me dislike her even more. If such a thing is possible. I have two escort today; both are much older than I am. The one that looks like a rat explained twice that this was the time which most of the guests tried to run away. If their family is anything like mine, I don't blame them. They lead me down the hallway to a door at the end. This is the visiting rooms. The rat stays at this door, while the other one crosses the room to stand at the other door. The doors are left open and they stand on the outside. The Rat gives me an encouraging push toward the chairs.

I take one seat. There is a clear barrier between myself and Azula. Like in jail, this is put here to make sure we don't hurt the people that visit us. She sits primly on the edge of her chair, making sure that none of her bare skin touches the seat. Funny how this place always seemed so sterile to me when she's clearly thinking that there are billons of germs that could possibly touch her Royal Highness. She's dressed in a pressed white shirt and a plaid black skirt. What a miss matched pair we must come across as. The well dressed girl and the delinquint. I can see that on Rat's face. She smiles at Azula and tells her that she has an hour with me.

"Tell me if you need anything, Sweetie," she says.

Azula smiles and nods. I turn my head to stare at the ground near my feet. We are silent for a long moment. I picture Azula's wide, false smile as she stares at the top of my head. Up close, that smile has always reminded me of a toad waiting to snatch up a fly. I hear the chair creak as she leans forward.

"You aren't going to say hi to me, brother dear?"

I press my lips tightly together. I picture myself strangling her. It makes me want to smile, but I keep my poker face. I hear her long cat-nails tap on the other side of the barrier. I raise my head to look at her. Her self assure smirk once again makes me want to strangle her.

"Zuzu, you're hurting my feelings."

Nothing. Her smirk disappears and she looks angry. I remember the times when we were little kids when Azula used to pull at my hair when I picked her up. There was one time she'd actually pulled a few locks of my hair out. I'd screamed and yelled at her. Her little baby face had looked just as angry as she did now. Then it had crumbled and she'd started to cry and I'd felt like the worst big brother in the world.

"Fine. Don't talk to me. But you're going to listen."

Her fingers move to the edge of the flat surface in front of her chair. They pick at something as she talks.

"Dad's really angry with you."

She keeps picking, turning to look me in the eyes.

"The newspapers know about this now. You didn't make the front page, but you're still in there."

Whatever she's picking at comes off in her hands.

"You really might have ruined Daddy's reputation."

She gets up, her plaid skirt swishing. She leaves the object on the desk where I can reach it and walks to the door. She pauses to talk to Rat as I examine the object she's left behind. It's the black plastic edge to the surface on her side of the barrier. One of the ends is flat and smooth. The other is sharp. I look around. Rat is talking to Azula and the other attendant on the other side is switching with another attendant. I reach through the slot where most of the guests can get gifts and snatch the plastic before Rat or the other attendant can see. They'll check me for anything before I leave. I slip it in my shoe. Then, I follow Azula out the door. She turns right and walks out the front door. Rat checks my pockets for anything and then looks me over suspiciously. Then she guides me by my shoulder back to my room.

When she leaves, I head straight to the bathroom. The attendant looks up over today's newspaper. I enter the bathroom and go to a stall. I pull the plastic strip from my shoe. I pull up the arm of my sweatshirt and press the sharp side to my skin. I hold my breath and give it a good pull. The crimson blood stands out from the other pink scars and the paleness of my skin. I press the skin tightly and let the blood drip into the toilet. Then I press the flush and head to the sink, making sure I wouldn't bleed onto the floor. I run the cut under the sink; it still stings badly. It is a relief. Then I grab one of the paper towels to cover it, pull the arm of my sweatshirt down to cover the paper towel and tuck the plastic strip back into my shoe. The attendant looks up as I leave, but sees no reason to hold me back. I head back to my bedroom, feeling much better.

**Yayz! New chapter! Hope you enjoy this. **

**Next time: **

Confrontation time!


	6. Chapter 6: Mother

**A/N: Readers, there's something you should read at the bottom. Please read it**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: the Last Airbender. All characters, places, references, exc. belong to Mike and Bryan as well as Nick and Viacom. I own none of it. **

The piece of plastic burns guiltily against my foot. Suddenly, the paper towel is itchy, chaffing at my skin. I have a sudden urge to rid myself of both of them. To toss them somewhere where'll I'll never have to see them again. But you're here and I unfortunately I can't. And today you aren't alone. There's a new nurse with you. She's small with a mountain of blond curls all bunched up on top of her head, probably held together with a million pounds of hair gel. She doesn't look over as she continues to hold your lunch tray, but you do. And wave.

"I forgot how good grilled cheese is," you tell me.

The plastic burns hotter as I sit on my bed and I instinctively move my foot, trying to get away from it. The paper towel feels itchier too. You're wrapped in a towel today. Sandwiched (no pun intended) between a light sheet and a thicker quilt. You finish off your sandwich and the nurse leaves. But not before warning the attendant at the bathroom. You smile at me.

"I've got the cold."

I nod. Then I shift so I can lie back on my bed and slip one of my hands under the pillow. That's where my mother's sketch books are kept. She used to tell me that if you kept something you liked under your pillow, then you would dream about it. I smile. It's been a while since I've thought about her comfortably. And I know I've never once dreamed about the contents of the sketchbook or even the sketchbook itself. But I keep the book there anyway.

It's become more and more apparent to me that as the years go by, it becomes harder and harder to picture what my life used to be like. I don't want to forget. I don't want this to be all I remember. And my mother…I never want to forget her. Her essence, her personality…I'm not entirely sure if it is possible to forget. However, I do not wish to find that I was wrong. And however minutely it helps, the books help me remember. And so they stay; an uncomfortable lump under my pillow that gives me cramps in my neck.

I run my hands along the book. I shift so I can run my fingers down the spiral. I feel cloth. Right. They taped it over so I wouldn't be able use the sharp metal. The end is poking out. I pull the cloth until it covers the end of the spiral. I don't want them to take this away because of it. Suddenly, several things are happening at the same time. The book gets caught on my sleeve as I pull my hand from under the pillow. The sketchbook goes flying across the floor and so does the paper towel as I hasten to chase down the book. You're up out of bed, halfway between helping me and lying back down. The paper towel floats gently to fall at your feet. You take one look at it and a cold fury rises up in your eyes. If I hadn't been so preoccupied with my mother's sketchbook, I would have noticed sooner.

"What did you do?" you hiss.

I turn, surprised. I touch my wrist as I see you holding the paper towel. That doesn't seem to make you much happier. I'm not bleeding anymore. The open wound is replaced with a pink scar. Soon it will fade to white and then back to m y skin color. But by then it will be replaced by others. That's the way it has been for a while. Why should this time be so different?

"You did it again, didn't you?"

It's a rather stupid question, considering you're holding the evidence in your hands. I'm not sure if I should even say anything. Or if I even want to for that matter. Why can't you just leave me alone? I reach out of the paper towel, but you take a step back. Don't you realize what will happen if someone finds that? It's best to just flush it down the toilet and let the whole thing die.

"Why are you even here?" You demand. "It isn't like you want to get better like the rest of us."

I bite back a rather inappropriate burst of laughter. You're spot on. I don't want to get better.

"I don't want to be here," I whisper so low that I'm only sure you hear because you respond.

"You don't even care, do you? I care. And that's why I'm here. I want to get better. You don't." I nod. That sounds about right. "Why did you even bother coming here?"

"I don't _want _to be here." I pause for a second and then the curiosity gets the better of me. "Why do _you_ want to be here?"

"I want to get better," You reply instantly.

It's a good lie. And if I'd cared more, then maybe I would have pried further. I snatch the towel out of your hand, hide it in my sleeve and head to the bathrooms. Apparently you aren't done pestering me, because you follow. The attendant is gazing over the wall so he can watch us. Fabulous. Fortunately, he's more concerned with you than me. I manage to toss the towel in the toilet when he's not looking and flush. You're still talking as we head back to the relative privacy of our room.

"You don't have the courage to do it, you know," You tell me as you finger your wrist. Right above the vein.

I know what you're talking about even though you don't say it.

"Already been done," I reply flippantly. Your eyes widen. That proves it. You know nothing about me. "What do you think wound me up here?"

"I've considered it," You confess. "But only here. The walls, the needles the sterility. Sometimes I feel like the walls are going to close in on me. I need to get out." I glance over as you continue. "There's always one thing that stops me though."

You're silent for the next few minutes. I sigh and then decide to indulge you.

"What's that?"

"I wonder…what would mom say?"

**A/N: Hey guys. I'm sorry about the delay for this update. I want to thank everyone who reviewed during the dry spell. It gave me hope that you hadn't given up on me. And I'm glad you didn't because I've been working on this chapter the whole time. I know you're probably wondering how that makes sense. I'm in 10th grade in High School taking all honors and AP. As well as studying for the PSAT/ NMSQT test. I've bene super-busy. But that doesn't mean I haven't been working on this story. I've managed almost every day to write at least a sentence or two of this chapter before I had to go do something else. And I finally had the time to finish it this weekend. Taking all honors/AP classes means that I have to fit the story around the projects and homework and essays I get almost every other day. It's hard, but I fully intend to finish this story. I had a few weeks where I was so depressed about Avatar ending that I couldn't write anything Avatar with out bursting into tears (I'm such a dork). But I want to thank time for healing that and Twilght Rose2 for holding her September contest. I didn't win, but it really helped me with my AWS. And after that, I've been trying to get this chapter done ASAP and still have it sound good. So hopefully I suceeded. Thank you to all my readers for not giving up on me. I really do intend to finish this story even if regular updates are difficult. And I'm also sorry for this long authors note...thanks for reading it. **


	7. Chapter 7: Understanding

**Chapter 7- Understanding**

I wonder what you said to her. Whatever you said, she doesn't like it because Katara's waiting purposefully in the hallway outside my door, hands on her hips. She's got an escort behind her, but that won't help me much. Her escort is a small thin girl who's nervously chewing her fingernails. A meek mouse. Alliteration. Lovely. Maybe when I get out, I'll have urges to go shopping with Sokka and buy dress shirts and matching belts or something. We stare at each other for a second but she says nothing. Finally, I turn my head. I'm not leaving the room just yet. My escort isn't here yet. And despite the fact that I'm starving, it's a fact that almost makes me smile. I have an excuse for not walking with Katara. I make to close the door and she stops it with her foot.

"Wait," she commands.

I roll my eyes. Now what?

"You really upset Aang the other day," she tells me, her voice almost a growl.

You. It's always about you with these people. Do I care if you're upset? No. I don't think you care if you've upset me either. My mother. How dare you? Just _leave me alone_. I say nothing, but she can read it in my eyes.

"You don't care about anyone but yourself, do you?" she snarls.

That's a low blow, but not entirely unrealistic. Why shouldn't I care for myself when there's no one else to care for me? What is it with the people in this place? You'd think they of all people would realize that life wasn't all butterflies and rainbows. I don't answer much to her chagrin and turn and disappear into my room, making a point of shutting the door firmly in her face.

She's smart enough not to try and shout through the door. That would only get her in trouble with the attendants. But she's not gone. I can feel it. She's standing outside the door, her anger slowly seeping underneath the door. I listen carefully. For a few minutes there is no sound. Then, I can hear two sets of footsteps clicking down the hall.

XXX

When I get back from my afternoon session with my therapist, I'm thoroughly irritated. She came up with a new exercise: looking at ink blobs. It's called a Rorschach test and it's supposed to be a psychological evaluation. That coming straight from the mouth of my therapist. What it really is is a way for her to feel like she's making some sort of progress with me. Since I won't talk to her, she has me write down "what I see" in the ink blots. Are you even supposed to see anything in them? They're ink blots on a piece of paper for God's sake! That's what I see! Ink blots! I wonder if there's something you're supposed to see in them, since she seemed rather disappointed in my answers. I think she was expecting something along the lines of "demon, knife, blood, death" instead of "cheese, pencil, book, ink blot". That last one really got her riled up.

You look up as I carefully shut the door. For a second our eyes meet and we simply stare at each other. This has been one of the first times since our argument that we've paid each other mind.

"You're girlfriend was here today," I tell you finally.

"Oh jeez," you grumble. "I didn't think that Katara would actually _say_ anything to you." You pause for a second and then realize what I said. "Wait! She isn't my girlfriend!"

You blush up to the tips of your ears. If that isn't a dead giveaway, I don't know what is. If I was in the mood, I might have perused the subject further. But I'm not. So I don't. Instead, I turn away and busy myself with obsessively getting the wrinkles out of my blanket.

The room is silent for five minutes and then you say hesitantly, "I'm sorry."

My head jerks up involuntarily and I ask stiffly, "For what?"

"Well for Katara," You say sheepishly. "And for yesterday too. I didn't mean to upset you. It just bothers me, is all."

"It bothers you?" I repeat slowly.

"Not like that," you assure me, waving your hands. "It's just you seem so sure about dying and I don't want you to be. You're my friend, Zuko. I don't want you to die."

I'm your friend? Where was I when this happened? But I don't question you, either. This is the first time anyone has called me anything remotely close to "friend". I don't tell you this, or the fact that this is the first time in a long time that anyone has apologized for upsetting me.

"Don't worry about it," I find myself saying.

You grin, ear to ear and then say, "I want to show you something."

And out of nowhere you pull out a bunch of pictures. The first one is of a goat. No kidding. A goat. It's white with long fur and two perfectly pointed horns.

"This is Aapa!" You announce. And once again, you're enthusiasm blows me away.

"Aapa?"

"He's my pet goat." You get quieter. "My mom gave him to me before she died." You glance at my face to make sure I'm not upset by this. "Whenever he visits, Gyatso brings me pictures of him. And I always know he's at home, just waiting for me. And I can't wait to get back."

You're quiet as you flip through the pictures. They're all of the goat. Appa.

"I guess we both have something, right?" I look over at you in confusion. "From our Moms," You elaborate. "They both left us something. I mean, I have Aapa and you have those books."

"They're sketchbooks," I correct automatically.

And your face lights up. This is the first time I've ever willingly shared information that had any sort of personal value with you. At the moment, I don't think I can destroy your hopes. So, I grab the books from their place under my pillow and show them to you.

"They're nice," You comment.

"They're from a better time," I admit.

The pictures are all drawn in bright, vibrant colors. They're permeated with hope and happiness. Just like Mom.

"Are you an artist too?" You ask.

I nod, still flipping through the book. Every time I look through it, I feel like I'm seeing it for the first time.

"It's something to keep her close," You guess.

I look up. We've reached a level of understanding.

**A/N:** Okay, I think this chapter came out faster than the last. And it's longer too! Awsome. I have good news, my readers! I'm on Winter Break. And my teachers were merciful and only gave me one major assignment. Which means, I'll be able to update!!!! So that's your Christmas gift! This chapter was actually supposed to be up on November 15th. Which is my birthday. I was going to give it to you guys as a present. But unfortunately, my teachers are evil so I put it up as a Christmas gift instead. So I hope you enjoy! Also, I have a request for all of you. Well actually I have two. The first request is the most important. For all of you who review, tell me how a certain chapter made you feel. Kudos to everyone who reviewed for last chapter and told me that the end made them cry. It's helpful to know how certain parts make you feel so that I know that I'm giving off the right mood. Even if it's just "this part made me smile. update soon", it really helps. As for my second request, well this is the turning point of the story, which means that there are only three or four more chapters to go. So, if there's something you want to see, put it in a review or message me. All requests will be analyzed and read and if they can fit into the story, they will be put there. Of course, if your suggestion is used, I'll credit you for putting it there. I'll go under the disclaimer or somewhere where people will see. **Speaking of which, I forgot to credit Autumn's Shadow for her idea for Azula to slip Zuko something to cut with. Sorry Autumn!** But yeah, that was done based off her suggestion. So if anyone else has something I would like to hear it. Thanks for everything and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Scroll down for a preview of next chapter. ^_^

**Preview:**

"Give it a chance. I think he really cares about you."

"I think you should start talking to your therapist."

"What happened to your mother, Zuko? What did your father have to do with it?"

"Zuko, your father's here to see you."

Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.


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